Possibilities
by ponine-cosette
Summary: What if Valjean hadn't saved Marius from the barricades? What if he had saved gasp SOMEONE ELSE by accident! NOTE: He DOESN'T save an Amis, and Eponine doesn't live. Yes, you can let out a sigh of relief. Rating is just in case
1. Montparnasse at the Barricades?

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Les Misérables, or any of the characters. That would be Victor Hugo. I couldn't quite decide whether this is more musical or book based, but considering that I decided to post it in the BOOK category, I guess its safe to say that I'm decided. He he. Sorry that this chapter is so short, but the others will be longer, I swear! This is just a prologue!**

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**Chapter 1: Montparnasse at the Barricades?**

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_'Damnit! I am stupid! A couple strong drinks and a couple strong feelings and I am out here on the barricade? The hell!'_ He brushed the blood from his face, squinting to tryto find a way out.

This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to be on the barricade with a bunch of half-wit school boys that were just trying to throw their lives away. He shook his head, and prayed to God (something he hadn't done before) that he would wake up. He prayed that this was all a dream.

The last thing he remembered was sitting at that blasted tavern and drinking a few drinks while discussing his feelings for Eponine. Then he remembered. Her sister had been brought into the tavern to try to pick drunkards pockets, and he had confronted her on behalf of Eponine, and she had said quite plainly that she was at the barricade.

His drunk mind said '_Come! Let us go to the barricades and save her!' _Now, he felt like such an idiot. He was smarter than this! Or, at least he was when he was sober.

He gave up searching for an exit from the mess of blood and balls, and was about to give in to the pain of his shoulder. A ball had pierced his shoulder blade, and the pain it produced was too much for words.

As he swirled into blackness, the last thing he saw was the face of Eponine, the ugly, dirty gamine he had somehow fallen in love with, despite the fact that he was a known assassin. The last thing he felt, or thought he felt, was a pair of arms grasping him as he fell.

Perhaps, he thought, they were the arms of the devil, ready to greet him when he entered hell.

And Montparnasse dropped to the ground.


	2. The Rescue

**NOTE FROM THE AUTHORESS Tell me if this is even worth continuing. I need reviews! sobs! Please! Ahem. Enjoy (if possible)! Thank you for the one review I did receive!**

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**Chapter 2: The Rescue**

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Valjean looked around. Where was that blasted boy! Cosette loved him, he knew, and in order to make Cosette happy, he would have to save her beloved Marius Pontmercy.

He scowled. That boy! How dare he come and steal his Cosette away from him! Ah, well, if Cosette is happy, he thought, then he would be happy.

This thinking finished he continued to scan the bodies and the faces for Marius. His eyes lit up when he saw the dark, curly hair dead ahead. While the army was occupied with another insurgent on the other side of the barricade, Valjean, came up behind him.

Upon reaching the boy, his head drooped and he fell back. Valjean caught him, and he lay in a bloody heap in his arms. He put the near-corpse on his back and headed around the corner from the back of the barricade. He found a man hole leading into the sewers beneath Paris. Anything was better than staying where he was.

He climbed in, body weighing heavily on his back. He slid through the shadows and into the filth of the sewers.

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Valjean looked into the back seat at the body of his daughters love. He was outrageously bloody, so bloody, in fact, that you could not recognize him. He looked like a completely different person. The only reason Valjean could recognize him was the dark curly locks.

He turned back around and looked at the man in the front of the fiacre. The hard, distant face was as cold and unfeeling as ever. Javert had found him as he was exiting the sewers with the body on his back.

"Where are we to take the boy?" Javert asked. "Has he any family?"

"Not that I know of." answered Valjean. "He did once mention a grandfather, but…I do not know where he is, or what has become of him."

Javert was silent for a moment. "Well, it's obvious that he needs medical attention." He said, finally.

"We shall drop him at my room and find a doctor to see him."

"A doctor who will see an insurgent who tried to take down the government?" asked Javert, sneering.

"Well, who is to say that he is not an innocent bystander?"

"He's a boy, a student, of course he was involved!"

"No, he was just walking down the street to my house when a stray ball hit him in the shoulder blade."

Javert sighed and was silenced once more, deciding not to continue debating with the old convict. "Very well."

They continued the rest of the ride in silence. The only sound to be heard was the clacking of the fiacre along the cobblestone.

Valjean looked out of the fiacre. The day was growing dark and he wondered if Cosette and Toussaint had been wondering where he was. He wondered if they even knew he had gone.

He sighed as the fiacre came to a halt in front of the building he now occupied, on the Rue de l'Homme Armé.

He exited the fiacre and pulled a still-unconscious-and-hopefully-not-dead Marius from the backseat. The driver saw the stained cushions in the back and where Valjean had been seated and began to protest, but Javert put up a hand to silence him.

Valjean carried a very heavy Maius up the stairs to his room. He knocked on the door, unable to open it himself because he was holding an injured revolutionary. Toussaint's tired face appeared at the door. Her eyes grew wide, she let out a scream and slammed the door in his face.

Apparently, they BOTH were unrecognizable. No matter, thought Valjean, I shall knock again and proved to Toussaint that it is I. He knocked on the door with the side of his arm once more, not taking his hands off of Marius.

"W-what d-do you w-want?" came a frightened voice that Valjean recognized as Toussaints.

"It is I, M. Fauchelevant, Toussaint." He said in his calmest voice.

"You are not M. Fauchelevant!" came the terrified reply.

Valjean sighed. "It is I, Toussaint."

"If it is indeed true that you are M. Fauchelevant, then why are you dirty and who are you holding, and why is he bloody, and what is the meaning of all this!" Toussaint asked hysterically.

"Toussaint, it is I, M. Fauchelevant, and I went to the barricades to save Cosette's love, Marius Pontmercy, and he had been shot in the shoulder, and I needed to escape so I went through the sewer…" Valjean did not know why he told her only the truth, and suddenly realized how completely unbelievable the whole story sounded. He would have even doubted that he was himself (strange sentence LOL).

The doorknob turned slowly, and Toussaint's head poked hesitantly out. She looked him over and her eyes went over the poor boy in his arms, and she let out a sigh of relief.

"So, it is you!" she said, completely and utterly relieved. "And if what you say is true, the boy is injured? Where is he injured? Come in!" and she ushered the two inside.

"He has been pierced in his shoulder by a ball." Valjean explained as they made their way to the kitchen. He laid Marius on the table and sank into a chair, exhausted.

"We must first clean him up." Said Toussaint.

"And I shall go into town and seek out a physician." Said Valjean.

"Of course, monsieur, but you must first clean up and look respectable. I still don't even know if it's you under all that filth!" she joked.

"Very well." Valjean replied and gave himself a quick cleaning, and got into some decent clothes. He then left Toussaint with orders to clean Marius up, dress his wounds, and a specific order to NOT wake or bother Cosette, who had been in her room all day.


	3. Attempt Failed

**CHAPTER 3: ATTEMPT FAILED**

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Cosette awoke, still feeling tired. She rubbed her eyes and sat up in her bed. She looked around her room and sighed. Soon, she thought, she would be on her way to England.

Upon glancing around her room, her eyes rested on her window. Sunlight was streaming through it. She gasped in horror. What time was it? Why hadn't someone woken her? She relaxed, thinking her father had let her sleep in, so she would be prepared and rested for the trip across the sea.

She washed her face, brushed her hair, and dressed herself before heading out the door. She walked daintily down to the kitchen, where her father and another man were discussing something over tea.

She was about to turn back around, feeling that she was interfering with a private conversation, when her father looked up and saw her. He smiled at her, and said, "Cosette, my dear, come sit by me."

She sat down obediently at the old mans' side. "This is Doctor Sondeaux, the physician from down the road." Valjean said as he paid the man. Then, the physician stood from his seat, and left.

"Why has he visited?" Cosette asked casually, no worry written on her charming face.

"Cosette, your Marius, he is in the other room." Valjean said, gesturing to the guest bedroom.

Cosette's eyes went wide. "Is he injured? What has become of my Marius?"

Valjean laughed gently. "No, no, Cosette. Maius is fine now."

"Now?" Cosette's voice still had an edge of fear to it. "Was he not fine before?"

"Marius was at the barricades. Undoubtedly he could see no point in his life with you leaving."

"Did he get hurt? Oh, my goodness, my Marius!" she pouted prettily. "So he is alright? May I see him?"

Valjean laughed another friendly laugh and replied, "Marius will be fine. He is fine. He just needs to rest for a little while. Do not overwhelm him." In truth Valjean had not been inside the room since he had brought Marius back from the barricades. He had gone to ask for a physician, then had sat at the kitchen table while the doctor examined Marius, and waited until he could get information on the boys condition.

She pouted even more so, a famous pout that no one can resist, and it melted the old mans heart. "Very well. You may go in and see him. Just do not excite him, my dear. If he is asleep do not wake him."

Cosette placed a kiss on her fathers' forehead and said. "I will behave, father." And with that, she not so much skipped into the guest bedroom, but she surely had a bounce in her step.

She opened the door slowly at first, turning the knob with care, trying to keep sound at a minimum, in case her love was asleep.

She smiled at that familiar tuft of dark, curly hair atop Marius' head. He was obviously asleep; eyelids closed, a slight sound coming from him (probably a snore), and he was lying back on the bed.

She approached cautiously, on tiptoe. She sat at his side on the bed, and placed a hand delicately on his head, absent mindedly stroking his hair while staring into space. She was frightened a little when he moved slightly, and was torn out of her distant state of thought.

Cosette looked down at Marius…wait a second. She moved the hair from him face. Hold on. This wasn't Marius. She began to panic and rubbed her eyes, praying to God that she was dreaming (something we've seen someone do previously in the story...).

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes again. Then…the poor darling screamed. She shook her head and screamed once more, horror shooting through her relentlessly. She backed up, unaware that she would be hitting the wall or some piece of furniture soon, crying "Marius! Marius!"

The wall came first and she was pressed against it. And she was still screaming. By this time, Valjean had heard the screams of Cosette and was hurrying into the room.

He threw the door ajar, and ran to Cosette, who was cowering against the wall. 'Marius' had awakened and was looking wildly from the hollering Cosette to the concerned Valjean and back.

Then…Cosette fainted. She was in so much shock that her body just gave out on her, and she fell to the ground.

Valjean was horrified, and took off to care for Cosette. 'Marius' looked completely and utterly confused, and was beginning to close his eyes and lay back down, muttering something to himself.

Valjean carried Cosette out of the room, leaving a concerned 'Marius' behind. Valjean had not even cast a single glance 'Marius'' way when he entered the room, such was his intent to help Cosette.

And Montparnasse sat on the bed in the guest bedroom, wondering where he was, why he was there, and most importantly, he wondered: Who the hell was Marius?


	4. What Kind of Name is Marceau?

**Okay, so I love that I am getting so much feedback…but it's only from like 2 or 3 people. It is very nice to see some people believe in this story enough to follow it. Hopefully I can get more opinions too, but those of you who reviewed, the reviews are very much loved on. So…here goes nothing.**

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**CHAPTER 4: MARCEAU? WHAT KIND OF NAME IS THAT?**

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Montparnasse was befuddled (man I love that word). He couldn't exactly make out what had occurred. He had begun to remember what had happened, it seemed like days before, at the barricades.

He remembered that he had gone, though he didn't remember why, and remembered thinking that he was dying.

And now, he suddenly found that he was dressed in clean clothes, was in a nice room, and his right shoulder was bandaged where he had been injured.

He didn't get it. Where was he? Who in their right mind had saved him, and why? These and other questions ran through his mind over and over again, questions that he had no answer to.

He then began to look back at that peculiar incident that had occurred not even an hour before. He had been awoken from a peaceful slumber by screams.

A pretty girl had been pressed against the left wall of the room, screaming variations of "Marius!" until she had slumped to the ground, knocked out. Then, an old man had run into the room, looking as if he were about to lose sanity, and had grabbed the now-unconscious-but-still-beautiful young lady from the ground and carried her out the door, without so much as a word to Montparnasse.

The whole scene was completely bizarre.

Montparnasse rubbed his head. Trying to recall where he had heard that name before. Marius. Hmmm. Marius. It rang a bell somewhere in the confines of his mind. Marius…

Suddenly, a terrible anger was glowing in Montparnasse's eyes as it all flowed back to him. He remembered why he had been at the barricades, to save Eponine. This had then led him to remember why she had gone in the first place. It was him. Marius. The 'Baron' Marius Pontmercy.

He was the one who had stolen Eponine's heart. He was the one who had made Eponine reject Montparnasse. He was the one who had not cared for Eponine at all, and yet she loved him despite it all. With the mention of the name Marius, the murderer that Montparnasse truly was started coming back to the surface.

He knew that this Marius had gone to the barricades, and that Eponine had led them both there to their deaths. Montparnasse had wanted nothing more than to just save Eponine and leave that boy to die.

Many times Eponine had been known to mutter about "Cosette". Apparently, Cosette was the girl that Marius loved. Montparnasse smiled to himself at the thought of Marius being dead. He would have liked to have done it himself, but nonetheless, he had not been able to get his hands on him while he was alive. A pity, really. It would've been fun (or at least, Montparnasse's idea of fun).

He was quite perplexed at the whole situation. He wished someone would come in and explain to him what was going on. He would very much appreciate it.

He glared at his bandaged shoulder, seeming to want to die on the spot. Then, he thought, well, as long as he had a nice bed, he might as well take advantage of it. His old, rotting room in that tenement in the poor section of Paris was hardly suitable for the rats that were abounding in the place. Luckily, Montparnasse found the rats useful; he could let out his rage on them.

And yet, sometimes slaughtering a rat hadn't quite been enough for poor 'Parnasse, and so, we find that Montparnasse was indeed a known assassin, murderer, and member of the fearsome Patron-Minette. What a surprise.

The door to the room Montparnasse was occupying then opened. Montparnasse was knocked out of his silent reverie and back to stark reality.

He recognized the newcomer as the old man that he had described as 'about to lose sanity' during the episode not too long ago. The man slowly walked over to stand by the side of Montparnasse, awkwardness filling the air.

"I'm sorry to bother you." The man said finally.

Montparnasse just looked at him, awaiting an explanation to the bizarre happenings that had occurred.

"What is your name?" the man asked him. This man had obviously pondered that one long and hard before he asked.

Montparnasse thought fast. No way was he was going to respond 'Montparnasse', because that was just like saying 'Hello, I am the devils playmate, wanted by police, and hated by everyone. I could just murder you on the spot.' No. That would be bad. He came up with a name without hesitation, but it wasn't the best name…

"Marceau." Montparnasse replied. "Marceau Vauthier.'' Montparnasse almost smacked himself in the forehead, but thought better of it. Marceau Vauthier? What kind of name was Marceau? Well, too late now.

The old man nodded, looked as if he would begin to cry any second now, but he didn't . He nodded absentmindedly and went back the route he had come. He exited the room, leaving Montparnasse just as confused as ever, if not more.

He was getting rather annoyed by the fact that he STILL didn't have a clue what was going on. He flung himself down onto the bed in frustration, and succeeded in falling into a fitful, if light, sleep.

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Cosette was still shaken by what had happened the day before. She had gone into that guest bedroom, thinking her love, Marius was sleeping there. You can imagine how surprised she was when she found that it certainly was not Marius.

She shuddered and the tears began to brim in her eyes. Marius. She didn't even know where Marius was. She had major doubts that he was alive. If her father had accidentally saved this stranger by the name of 'Marceau Vauthier', then what had become of her love? Most likely, his corpse was rotting over at the collapsed barricade.

She could no longer keep back her emotions and tears. It all gushed forward, and she cried into the comforter on her bed, cried into her hands, and sobbed until she had pretty much cried herself dry.

Then she heard a knock on her door.

Cosette tried to regain her composure, and answered timidly, "Yes?"

"It is Toussaint." Came an equally timid voice.

Cosette sighed. "Come in."

And Toussaint entered the room, and said. "You are wanted downstairs."

Cosette sighed again. "Very well. Say that I shall be down in a few minutes."

Toussaint nodded and exited, leaving Cosette to groom herself before heading downstairs. Once down, her father motioned her over. He looked over tired and the whole scene in the kitchen was rather depressing.

"Cosette, darling…" Valjean started…but he could not finish. He could not stand to see Cosette suffering. It was like a stab to his heart. "Might I ask you, to…well…could you go and talk to M. Vauthier? He can not stay here much longer, for we shall be leaving for England soon, and, we need to find out if he has any family, or where he lives, so we do not just dump him out in the street."

Cosette nodded, rather sadly. And, without a word, she stood, and approached the guest bedroom. She inhaled deeply and cautiously opened the door, much the same way as she had the first day.

The boy was awake and staring up at the ceiling, but was startled when she opened the door. "Hello." Said Cosette weakly, smiling sadly.

"Hello." Said Marceau.

Cosette made her way over to him, much the same way that the old man had done the day before. She pulled up a chair by his bedside and sat down daintily.

"What is your name?" Cosette asked, though she already knew.

"Marceau Vauthier. And what is yours?"

"Cosette."

"Ah, that is a very pretty name, mademoiselle."

"Thank you."

"May I ask you a few questions?"

"Certainly."

"Where am I?"

"You are in my house on the Rue de l'Homme Armé ."

The boy seemed to be trying to figure out how to word his next question. "What…happened?" he asked. It was a simple question, but the answer was quite complex.

Cosette met his gaze. He was quite a handsome boy, much like her Marius in build, same eye and hair color, and yet…he was different. She thought about how to reply to such a question as the one Marceau asked.

"Well, you were at the barricades. And my father, he, well, he thought you were…" she trailed off.

Marceau looked on patiently.

Cosette swallowed hard. "He thought you were Marius Pontmercy. And he grabbed you and brought you back here."

'Ah!' thought Montparnasse. 'So the man thought that I was Pontmercy, tried to save him, but ended up bringing me back! And this is the Cosette so talked about by Eponine! And Cosette is sad because her Marius is dead and I live!'

Montparnasse could see that Eponine had every right to be jealous of this Cosette. She was beautiful, well off, had a nice father, and had the one person Eponine adored; Marius.

But now Cosette was dismayed, for Marius was dead. Montparnasse tried hard to suppress a chuckle.

"I am truly sorry for any inconveniences." Cosette said whole-heartedly.

Marceau smiled. "No, no. I am sorry. It must be truly horrible to not have Marius here, and instead to have me here."

"Oh, no monsieur Vauthier."

"You can call me Marceau." Cosette giggled, despite herself and her sad situation.

"Alright Marceau." She couldn't help but smile at Marceau. He was sweet. She completely forgot about the task she had been sent in to accomplish (and in case our beloved reader has also forgotten, it was to figure out if 'Marceau' had any family, and where he lived.), and was content just to stare into the eyes of the devilishly handsome Marceau Vauthier.

And Montparnasse, that scoundrel, he was pretty sure that after Cosette finally realized Marius was gone, that the two of them would get along fine. He hoped they might even be more than friends. That would show that dunce Marius (whether he was dead or alive, not like it mattered) who's boss.


	5. Realization

**The update is here! I have been on vacation for a week. Not fun to have no internet there. Anyway…uhh…here it is…**

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Cosette lay on her bed, still dressed in her night clothes, though it was midday by now, and was bawling. Sobs racked her fragile figure, and tears stained her bed and her clothes. It had taken a while for the fact that Marius wasn't coming back to sink in. She had been in a temporary paralysis the day before, completely shocked. So shocked that she didn't grieve. So shocked that it was just not feeling real at all to her.

But it had hit her, after a night of sleep, that Marius, the love of her life, was no longer with her on earth. The tragedy struck Cosette a hard blow, and when Cosette is suffering, Valjean is suffering. And thus, upon hearing that Cosette was crying in her room and wished to be left alone, as Toussaint said, Valjean's mood went bitter and concerned. An odd combination, but true nevertheless.

Cosette was fairly quiet, save for the sharp intakes of breath that crying produces, and she would wail Marius' name every so often. She had not ceased sobbing since she had woken from a dream that Marius and herself were married. She had awoken from the dream very happy, and her thoughts drifted to Marius. But this was when the thought crossed her mind that it was not Marius that was downstairs in the guest bedroom. It was Marceau.

She grew very angry at Marceau. Why had he been the one saved? She was distressed beyond comprehension. She knew that she shouldn't be angry at Marceau, considering it wasn't his fault that her father had saved him and not Marius. And she could not be angry with her father, for he was only trying to help, and had done his best to save Marius. But obviously this wasn't enough.

So Cosette's anger was not directed at any one person. She was just angry and sad in general, at the circumstances and events of the past couple of days. She could not bring herself to leave her bedroom, her bed. She hadn't eaten since brunch the day before. She had no appetite. Everything reminded her of Marius. Her Marius. The Marius that was now dead. The word 'dead' really shook Cosette. Dead. Marius was dead. She trembled, thinking about how she would never see Marius again. She had lost her love. Marius was gone.

Soon, her anger had been replaced with a horrible emptiness, which was in turn filled with a terrible sorrow.

She just could not get used to the idea, nor did she try to. She was greatly depressed, and thought that if she couldn't have Marius, if God was to be so selfish as to take him for himself, that they would come as a package. If he took Marius, he would get Cosette as well. Cosette had been pondering suicide for a while now, but that idea was very short lived. She could only see suicide as a sin, but couldn't help thinking that it was an option, and possibly a good one, at that.

She shook her head, trying to rid herself of those thoughts, but every time she did so, they would come back, stronger and more urgent than before. By evening, Cosette had cried herself to sleep, a sleep filled with dreams about her Marius, but in her dreams, Marius was not dead. And when she would wake she would most likely realize this, and the dreams would dissipate to the recesses of her mind. And then the shock would come, then the anger, then the sorrow. It was a vicious cycle, one from which Cosette could not escape.

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Montparnasse had inquired about Cosette of Valjean earlier that day when he brought in his breakfast. The reply had been that she was sleeping.

At lunch time, Montparnasse had asked once more, and received the same answer; "She is sleeping."

Growing a bit impatient, Montparnasse had asked again at dinner. Valjean had paused, knowing that the boy knew she was not sleeping, and yet…what else to say?

"She is sleeping."

Montparnasse was infuriated. "Surely she could not have slept all day?" he said. "Is there something wrong? Is she ill?"

Valjean's thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. "She misses Marius…" he mumbled absentmindedly.

Of course! Montparnasse cursed in his head. Marius! Well, what did he expect? Surely, she wouldn't get over Marius in a day! What had he been thinking? Nevertheless, he hated Marius. He have reason to. He hated him, and he was going to steal his girl, no matter how long it took. Hopefully they wouldn't throw him out of the house before then.

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There was a light knock at the door. Cosette looked towards the door, wiped her eyes and stifled a sob.

"Yes?"

"Cosette, it's your father."

"Oh, um, one moment father."

Cosette sunk down under her covers on her bed, wiped her eyes and face a final time, and regained composure before saying, "Come in."

Valjean entered, looking troubled.

"Cosette…"

"Yes?"

Valjean made his way to her bedside. "As you know, we will be leaving for England…"

Cosette had to swallow a sob. She didn't want to leave. She didn't quite know why, but she couldn't leave right after Marius…died.

"I was wondering if you are ready to leave France."

Cosette sighed deeply and shook her head. "Father, I…I'm not ready to leave."

Valjean looked at Cosette's lovely, young face. He could see just how much she was suffering from the loss of Marius. This made Valjean angry…at himself. Why couldn't he have saved Marius? Why had he saved that other boy!

So Valjean obeyed Cosette. He would not leave until she was ready. How long was that going to take?


	6. A Run In

**Okay, so thank you so much for the support I am getting with this story. I really appreciate it. I am, however, looking for someone to beta this. If you are interested pm me. Anywho…uhh…I don't know what else I was going to say. Well, please keep giving me advice in the reviews, constructive criticism is loved on.  But flames are not.**

**Elphaba x glinda: What's a Montparnasse?**

**Eponine1eponine: Oh dear. You poor deprived child.**

**LOVE YOU DEAR!**

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_Cosette kissed Montparnasse. Some other graphic things that aren't appropriate for the rating of this piece happened. Montparnasse could hear Marius turning over in his grave. He laughed. Now Marius would get what was coming to him…_

Montparnasse awoke from a Marius and Cosette filled sleep. He rolled over, smiling. Then he looked around. Oh darn. He scowled down at the blankets. It was only a dream.

Sighing he sat up and propped himself on the pillows. Light was streaming through the one window in the otherwise dark room which Montparnasse occupied. He figured it must be past 8:00; the sunlight was strong.

He turned his head and his eyes rested upon the bedside dresser, which was the only piece of furniture in the room besides the bed and a couple of old wooden chairs. On the dresser was a tray with his breakfast on it. He sighed again. He had missed the chance to prod the old man about Cosette's whereabouts and condition.

He lifted the tray onto his lap and was reaching for his water when he saw a note under the glass. He lifted the glass of water carefully and slid the note out from underneath, replacing the glass. He brought the note to his eyes. It read;

_Marceau,_

_You shall join my daughter and I for lunch at 1:00. Toussaint, our maid, shall see to it that you arrive on time. I do believe we shall enjoy your company._

_M. Fauchelevant_

Montparnasse was pleased. He would finally have a chance to at least _talk_ to the girl…Cosette he thought it was. They would be having lunch together. He figured from now on they would all be eating together for each meal.

Then Montparnasse remembered. He remembered what Eponine had told him before the foolish little slut went off to get herself and Marius killed. She had told him that Marius' lover was leaving for England…she had been very pleased with that. Of course, he had given her quite a beating for saying that.

He had loved 'Ponine, as much as a heartless assassin, murderer, and recognized thief can love someone. And yet, he had hit her and hurt her. He shook the thoughts away. He didn't want to elaborate on the subject, not even in his mind.

The whole point of Montparnasse remembering this tidbit of information was that he was indeed in the house of the girl whom Marius had loved. If she was going to leave, he, Montparnasse, must have delayed her departure. He guessed that they were kind people, and would not just dump what they thought to be a revolutionary out on the street after receiving some bad injuries do to bullets.

He figured that, now that he was getting better, that he was running out of time. This prompted him to decide that he would have to 'injure' himself again. He would plot that out in more detail after lunch.

Now that he was getting better, he was not quite contented with just laying there in that bed all day. He never left the room, save for when he went to the bathroom just down the hall. He decided to 'go to the bathroom'.

First, he finished his breakfast. He then placed the note and tray back into their original place on the beside table and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He grimaced in pain, not expecting the aging bruises to hurt so much, and, with some effort, he stood and began walking towards the door.

His shoulder pained him greatly, but he ignored it. He pulled the door open a crack, and heard footsteps coming down the stairs. They were light, so he figured it must be either the girl or the maid. He took his chances and decided to 'run into' the person descending the steps, hoping that he would be graced with having this be Cosette. He took in a breath and stepped out of the door and began limping down the hall towards the bathroom, which was conveniently located at the foot of the stairs, in the hallway, on the left side.

Montparnasse continued to limp, a limp which was not entirely fake, down the hallway until he came to the bottom of the stairs, where he ran smack into none other than Cosette.

The collision nearly knocked them both over, and though it did not have quite enough power to knock our vicious Montparnasse over, he was smart, and fell partly of his own accord, unbeknownst to Cosette.

"Oh!" Cosette cried, rubbing her head and gazing at Montparnasse with eyes puffy from hours of crying. "I, I'm so sorry!" she said as she took Montparnasse's hand in hers and pulled him to an upright position. "Marceau, are you alright? Are you injured?" Cosette asked hurriedly.

Montparnasse let out a laugh, which turned into a (fake) coughing fit. "Yes, I am fine Cosette. I apologize. It was entirely my fault." He said, turning to start to walk, but clutching his leg in pain.

"Oh my! Are you alright? Oh dear, what have I done?" Cosette said, looking concerned. Her eyes filled with tears, but they were not because of what had just occurred. Her endless crying had left her tear ducts open, and even the slightest thing could set off her load of waterworks.

Montparnasse began swaying a little, making it clear that he was about to fall. Cosette hurriedly ran up behind him and caught him as he fell, sighing and repeating "Oh my goodness, now look what I've done, look what I've done." under her breath.

"Marceau! Are you alright! Oh dear! Would you like me help you to your room?" Cosette asked him.

Montparnasse dropped the excuse of going to the bathroom. If she asked, he had been trying to stretch his legs, and building his strength up. Yes, that would do.

He nodded his head. "If it is not too much to ask." He replied in the most pathetic sounding voice he could muster.

"Oh, it is no trouble. It was my fault, after all. Put your arm around my shoulder ." Cosette instructed. He did so. "Now put your weight on me as you walk." He also did this, holding back just a bit, so as not to hurt her. Not like he cared.

When they got into the room, the odd procession headed towards the bed. Cosette helped him to lay down. "Did I hurt you? I am so sorry." Cosette repeated.

"No, you didn't. Thank you." He smiled, trying to look helpless and attractive at the same time. As we all know, Montparnasse certainly _can_ pull that off.

"What were you doing out of bed?" Cosette scolded him.

Montparnasse already had that figured out. "I was stretching my legs, trying to build up some strength."

Cosette gave him a sympathetic look. "Oh." Was all she could think of to say.

There was then a moment of awkward silence. "Well, I really must be going now. I believe I shall be seeing you at lunch."

Montparnasse nodded and rolled over, closing his eyes. Cosette gave something that _might_ have passed as a sad smile his way. She then left the room to try to get her eyes to calm down before lunch, but to no avail. She wished she could just cry herself dry.

Back in his room, Montparnasse was grinning. He had at least started conversing with her, and had most likely inspired her pity. Everything was going as planned.


	7. A Meal, With Company

**A/N: Hello again! sigh, Monty is a bad boy…reviews are STILL muchly appreciated. Thanks to TwistedGoth for helping me out and beta-ing this chapter :) Also, my computer is being weird...I don't know what's wrong with it, but it might mess the writing up…**

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Montparnasse lay on the bed in his room, staring up at the ceiling, though not really seeing it, instead thinking about up and coming lunch this afternoon. He figured that the maid--Toussaint, if he remembered correctly--should be coming in to announce that it was time for lunch any minute now.

As his mind wandered, he somehow stumbled upon the thought of Marius. Again. For about the seventh time that day. He was embittered at even the memory of Marius for hurting the only person he had ever even gotten close to loving; Éponine Thénardier. Marius had rejected Éponine, had made her cry and sulk and hate the world, and still she loved him. She came back to him. Over and over and over again, regardless. Even as an unconditionally loving Montparnasse stood with open arms and returned feelings, still she went to Marius.

As the feelings of rejection and rage overcame him, he clenched his fists, shaking, trying to rid himself of the homicidal urges which always seemed to follow his wrath.

He swallowed hard, then gathered himself, coolly, and smiled. Marius had hurt someone he held dear, and now, he would hurt someone Marius had held dear. Cosette Fauchelevant.  
His smile widened, and he began to laugh hysterically. He suddenly realized where he was, however, and clamped his hands over his mouth. No evil cackles were to be heard in the Fauchelevant residence. Lord only knew what they would think if they heard him laughing to himself like a loon as they walked past the door.

With nothing else to do, he sighed deeply and rolled over onto his side. Marius' girl, Cosette, was quite a sight, he thought. Her locks of dark hair, her bright eyes, her slender figure... Montparnasse liked the look of her. A beauty to be sure. In his solitude, he had considered, for a moment, that perhaps he might grow to love her someday. Such a thing would interfere with his plan, but it was, he consoled himself, highly unlikely. Love! He didn't love anyone on earth. He recognized that feeling he had when he looked at Cosette. Lust. It was lust, not love. Lust was far weaker than love, and posed no threat to him. He was so lost in thought, that he failed to hear a timid knock on the door. The frail knock came again, a little louder this time, and Montparnasse snapped back to reality. Resettling, he sniffed and murmured hoarsely, "Come in."

Toussaint entered the little guest bedroom and said quietly, "Monsieur Vauthier, lunch is ready." Then she exited as quickly as she had come.

Montparnasse let out a long breath, and, with some difficulty, rose to a standing position. Then, with much difficulty, dragged his injured body over to the door. Before opening it, he brushed his clothes off, smoothed out the wrinkles, fixed his hair, tried out another "poor-pitiful-injured-boy" facial expression, and checked himself over one last time. Satisfied, he opened the door and limped towards the kitchen.

When he entered the room, his two benefactors were already seated. They were silent. He approached, feeling rather awkward, and tried to get their attention without looking like he meant to. He began to limp more than necessary, hoping for a spot of pity.

Cosette was the first taker. She looked up, as he sported a rather violent-looking limp, and rose from her seat quickly to help him to the table, crying, "Oh, you poor thing! Next time I shall help you from your room to the table, Marceau." He nodded, wincing. He actually was in pain. Perhaps that violent limp of his had been a tad too violent.

He allowed Cosette to help him into his chair, and waited patiently for someone to speak.

"Please, have something to eat," Cosette half-asked, half-ordered him, placing a plate of food in front of him. She didn't have to ask him twice. But before he ate, he bowed his head and pretended to pray, playing to the affections of both the girl he knew had been raised in a convent and her undoubtedly equally religious father. He muttered a little, to make sure they realized what he was doing. Upon finishing, he crossed himself.

"Are you religious," the normally quiet M. Fauchelevant asked, curiously.

"Yes. I am a very devoted Christian." M. Fauchelevant looked satisfied, and Cosette smiled sweetly and nodded. He knew that he had just scored some points. They were silent for a few moments, and then Montparnasse decided to use some manners. "Monsieur and Mademoiselle Fauchelevant, I cannot thank you enough for letting me stay here. It has been wonderful, and I thank you for your hospitality. And I thank you, M. Fauchelevant, for saving my life, and you, Cosette for taking such good care of me."  
"You're quite welcome," Cosette said. "You have been a marvelous guest."  
M. Fauchelevant merely nodded in his direction.

Then Montparnasse continued. "I think it is best that I leave tonight."

Cosette looked up at him with wide eyes. "You...You have not recovered! You still cannot walk properly! Have you a place to go?"

"No, mademoiselle, but I could certainly find a place and a job."

"Not in your condition, you certainly could not," Cosette objected forcefully. She could not know that her emotions had just furthered his plan. That was the answer he had been counting on. "You must stay here! No more debating. That is final."

Montparnasse looked towards her father for the final decision.

"Yes..." M. Fauchelevant agreed. "You must stay here until you are better."

Montparnasse nodded once and then continued to eat. He couldn't help looking over at the still puffy-eyed Cosette (presumably still mourning the loss of her lawyer) from time to time as he ate. She was very pretty, and nice as well. She looked nothing like her father, though she might have resembled him at some point in his life, for he was now a white haired, old man. Or was he? Montparnasse thought to himself.

M. Fauchelevant did not physically look like an old man. He was plenty strong. Maybe he was in his forties or fifties. People in that age group could have white hair, after all. Satisfied with his answer, he continued with his thought. 'Perhaps Cosette looked like her mother.' He commented mentally, and continued to eat.

"Father," Cosette began, after a long period of silence. "How was your journey into town?" Her father had gone to get food and give alms to the poor earlier that day.

"It went well. Inspector Javert, however, sought me out after church." At Cosette's worried look, he added, "He said he thought me to be a very righteous man, and trusted that I would turn in some thief or another if I happened to see him."

"Oh," responded Cosette, relieved.

Montparnasse, however, was intrigued; he knew all of the thieves, so therefore he wondered which of his buddies the police were after. "What did he look like? What was his name," he asked. "In case we see him, so we shall know to turn him in, or tip off the police," he added, to allay suspicion.

"They call him 'the devils playmate'. His name is...Montparnasse, I think. He is a thief, and murderer. A dark haired, dark eyed boy around 17, strong and young. I told Javert I would keep my eye out."

Montparnasse stared vacantly, surprised. Seeing his expression, M. Fauchelevant asked, "What is wrong?"

At his voice, Montparnasse snapped out of it. "O-Oh, I think I remember seeing him somewhere, that is all."

"I see. Well, do tell me if you see him again."

Montparnasse nodded. "Would it be alright if I went into town today? Perhaps to see if anyone I know is...there." He made an expression of sadness and pain, which he took to such an extent that there was no way old Fauchelevant could refuse.

"Very well. But I insist that I or Cosette go with you."

That was not what he expected him to say. He could not have Cosette with him when he went 'to town', which was when he had planned to look about for the rest of Patron-Minette, and anyone else that he knew. He had been out of the circuit far too long.

However, he supposed, he did not need to find them this time. It was not desperately important, and perhaps he would not even need to find them at all until he was done with Cosette. He figured he could use this time to further his relationship with the girl. Yes, that would be what he would do. A day in town with Cosette.

"Town, then. Mademoiselle Cosette, would you accompany me?"

"Of course," came the expected reply.

His plan was set into motion.

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**A/N #2: Please note the fact that Javert is not dead. Therefore he did not commit suicide at the allotted time. Javert is back baby! I always hated the fact that he died anyway…and so I changed it! Yay for the not-dead Javert! **


	8. To Town!

**A/N: Okay, so throughout this story I have been disregarding the fact that the Rue de L'Homme Armé does not have a guestbedroom, or anything else that I have said that it does. I know that, and though I failed to mention it until now, just work with me here. And I am not pleased with the flame I received. Argh. Also, since I didn't exactly go into depth about Montparnasse and Eponine's former relationship (before she died), Just think of it as one like in the story 'Charmer of the Shadows' by Lesmisloony (WHICH I LOVE BY THE WAY). Thankies to TwistedGoth (beta!)**

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Montparnasse was satisfied. He didn't get to locate the rest of Patron-Minette, as he had formerly intended, but that was scarcely much of a loss. He could wait to find them. They were always around.

What had him particularly pleased, and yet at the same time nervous, was the fact that he was going into town--alone--with Cosette. 

And yet he was still a spot tense about this little expedition. What if someone recognized him? That would be the death of him, he thought. He paused, and rephrased himself. That would be the death of his plan. If Cosette discovered his true identity, he would have no choice but to abandon the plan and dart back to where he belonged; on the streets of Paris.

At this particular moment, Montparnasse was in his room, sitting on his bed, awaiting the time when Toussaint would enter and tell him that Cosette was by the door, and that they were ready to depart. As luck would have it, that time came soon enough.

There was a tap on the door.

"Come in," Montparnasse said.

Toussaint turned the knob and poked her head inside. "Monsieur Vauthier, your fiacre has arrived and Mademoiselle Fauchelevant is downstairs by the front door," she said.

He nodded and replied, "I will be there momentarily." He watched as Toussaint's head vanished and the door clicked shut. He then rose from the bed and strode towards the door, swinging it shut in his wake.

He hastily descended the flight of stairs and walked up to the front door, where Cosette stood in waiting.

"Are we all ready," Cosette asked softly, smiling, though he noted that her eyes were still red and irritated, signaling that she was still sobbing over her dead devotee.

"Yes, we are, mademoiselle. And I would like to thank you again for agreeing to accompany me," he said in a voice which surpassed even Cosette's in sweetness.

She merely smiled and replied, "Oh, it is no trouble."

As they walked towards the waiting fiacre, Montparnasse opened the door for Cosette, who smiled sweetly in thanks. Montparnasse himself then entered, turning to look at Cosette. She was gazing the other way, an indecipherable expression upon her face.

He lowered his head and turned away for a second, unsure, but eventually had to turn back to gaze upon that lovely face again. But attractive women were not a new frontier for Montparnasse. He had had many experiences with appealing woman, most of them concerning causing them pain.

Drawing himself away from these thoughts, he sat in silence the remainder of the ride. Cosette sniffled as the fiacre came to a stop. Montparnasse hopped out, followed by a rather sad Cosette. Her attitude, formal and sad, displeased Montparnasse.

"So, where to?" he asked her.

She looked about, and merely shrugged.

Annoyed, he suggested, "Why don't we just take a walk?"

She nodded in concurrence, coming to his side as they strode through the relatively busy streets.

"Is something bothering you, Cosette," he ventured.

She glanced sideways at him and wiped her eyes (as if that would make him forget that she had been crying!) and replied gently, "I'm just not feeling too well today."

She was obviously lying. Of course she wasn't 'feeling too well today'! She had been lamenting all night long, all of her misery revolving around the fact that Marius Pontmercy, the man that she loved, was dead. But she had failed to mention that to Montparnasse.

"Are you alright, Cosette? Would you...like to go back home?" he asked, knowing she would refuse on his behalf. She did not prove him wrong.

"No! No, I'm alright, really. I will be fine," she said, still not turning to face him.

"Cosette...are you sure that's all," he prodded one last time. She didn't give in.  
"I'm quite sure."

He turned the other way, hiding a scowl. This girl was beginning to enrage him. But, thankfully, he didn't have to be angry for long, as suddenly, beside him, Cosette burst into tears and collapsed on top of him.

Surprised, he caught her, looking down at her, his face full of concern.

"It's alright," he whispered, knowing that if he truly didn't know what else was wrong with her, and he was pretending not to, that he wouldn't have much else to say to try to console her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, hopefully. Finally dropping her defenses, she nodded and shakily made her way over to a public bench near a garden, beckoning him to follow her.

They sat, Montparnasse still holding the poor girl's hand. She looked around at the garden, and the bench on which they sat, and this made her cry even more, for it reminded her of where she had first seen Marius, at the Luxembourg gardens. Montparnasse was oblivious of the reason for this sudden outburst. He tried comforting her again. "Shhhhh. It's alright. Just tell me what is wrong...," he repeated over and over until she had calmed down enough to speak. By then, they were getting all sorts of strange stares from passerby. 

Cosette disregarded this and looked up at Montparnasse. Swallowing a sob, she said to him, "I-It's M-Marius!"

"Who is Marius?" he asked calmly. "I loved him. I still love him," she said quietly, followed by a moment of silence. "H-He died at the barricades."

"Yes, I do believe I fought with him. Was he the one...," he trailed off uncertainly, and then continued. "Was he the one that your father meant to save?" She nodded.

"Oh, this is all my fault," he wailed, throwing his hands over his face. "If I had't been saved, you wouldn't be in pain, and you two would be able to live happily together! Lord, take me, please! Give Marius back!" he cried, falling upon his knees and speaking upward.

These words had only been said to score points with Cosette, but he realized that they were partly truthful, only not for the reasons he had said. His next word gave away why he really wanted to be dead. "'Ponine..." he said, weakly.

Cosette turned to look at him, looking both surprised and sympathetic. Those two who had lost a loved one sat in complete and utter silence for five minutes.

Finally, Montparnasse spoke. "I'm so sorry," he said. He knew what it felt like to lose a loved one, and had finally realized that the same feelings applied to Marius and Cosette's situation as well as his with 'Ponine. But he still disliked Marius, for he had hurt the one that he loved, which is the worst crime one can commit.

"Did you love her?" Cosette asked.

Montparnasse looked up, and their eyes locked. "Yes, I did love Éponine," he whispered, with a sigh. "And you loved Marius?"

"Yes," replied Cosette, without hesitation. "I still do." By now, the sobs that had racked her body had turned to silent tears.

"Would you like to go home now?" he asked her.

"No," she replied. This honestly surprised him. He looked up at her, puzzled.

"Let's take that walk."


	9. M Gillenormand

**A/N: Oh I am so glad that people are enjoying the story! I thank TwistedGoth x 10000000, you guys should know why by now (BETA!) **

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Cosette, still crying softly to herself, somehow managed to smile. She was sitting in her bedroom, as she did most of the time now, and was thinking about what had happened that day. She had been told about Marceau's love for Eponine. The story was quite sad; he had let details out to her throughout the course of the day. In return, she had told him of Marius, and they had taken a nice walk.

And so here she was, stricken with grief on Marius' behalf, and yet she was smiling. She was confused. She liked to be with Marceau, and they were good friends by now. She had grown to like and trust the boy during their recent excursion into town.

The void in her heart that Marius had left in his wake was still empty...wasn't it? It had to be! She loved Marius! It was for Marius that she was grieving right now, was it not? Yes, she still had no reason to live, she told herself.

And yet, she couldn't help thinking that Marceau had brightened her day, and, as silly as it sounded, her life.

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Jean Valjean sat at the kitchen table, quite perplexed. When Cosette had left the house this morning, she had been completely and utterly depressed. And when she arrived back at the house, she had smiled radiantly. But now, she sat in her room and cried. He didn't understand.

A noise startled him out of his silent reverie. Two sharp knocks came at the door. Valjean stood and reluctantly went to answer it, uncertain. Upon opening it, he found himself face-to-face with an old man, pale and sickly looking, and an old woman beside him.

The old man wasted no time. "Is Marius here?" he asked.

Valjean's face paled.

This must be his grandfather! How on earth did he find out that Marius was supposedly here!

"You are M. Fauchelevant, are you not," M. Gillenormand asked impatiently.  
"Yes, I am. Come in, won't you," Valjean replied, swinging the door open wider and allowing the guests to enter. Once they were situated at the kitchen table, M. Gillenormand spoke once again.

"Well, will you let me see Marius now?" He knew he was being rude, but he could not help it. He had waited long enough, and this man was no one to him. To M. Gillenormand, Valjean was only someone who was undoubtedly lower on the social ladder than himself. Social class was all that mattered.

"Monsieur, Marius is not here."

"What do you mean, 'he is not here'? Of course he is here! That Inspector told me so! He is! You dare to lie to me?" M. Gillenormand spat, his voice rising, giving Valjean a cold glare.

Valjean grimaced. So Javert had told him! "I'm sorry, but it was discovered that the boy that we have under our roof is not Marius Pontmercy. His name is Marceau Vauthier," he explained, as calmly as he could.

"You lie!"

"I am telling you the truth, monsieur!"

"You...you...he is here! I know he is! You lie to me!"

"No, Marius is not here. I am sorry..."

"Then where is that other boy?"

"In the guest bedroom," Valjean said, gesturing towards Montparnasse's room.

"I know Marius is here!" M. Gillenormand thundered, quite insanely, leaping from his seat with the agility of a young boy. "I will find him! You cannot keep him from me!" he cried as he rushed towards the guest bedroom.

Valjean sighed, and stood to follow Marius' grandfather. '_The poor old man is crazy, and he will surely die when he realizes Marius is not here, and ultimately dead_', he thought.

The woman, M. Gillenormand's sister, who had insisted on coming on this trip to make sure M. Gillenormand was out of trouble, followed suit.

The door to Montparnasse's room burst open and Gillenormand made a mad dash toward the bed he believed to hold his grandson. He leaned over the sleeping figure. He saw the dark hair and instantly jumped backwards. It was Marius! He was right!

At this point, Valjean entered the room.

He turned and pointed a long, crooked finger at Valjean. "You lied to me! You see! He is here! He is in this bed! This is Marius," he flailed his arms wildly, screaming at Valjean and waking '˜Marceau', who sighed heavily.

These types of unexplained bizarre screaming fits were nothing new to him. Valjean glanced briefly towards Marceau, and then back to Gillenormand.

"No, that is Marceau Vauthier."

"More lies," Gillenormand hissed. "That is Marius! I will prove it to you!" He turned towards Marceau. "Look at me, boy!" he commanded.

Hesitantly, Marceau turned to look at him.

The little amount of color Gillenormand had left in his face drained, leaving him ghastly and white. He fell to the floor, trembling, and pointed at Marceau, cursing and muttering. "It is not him...Marius is not here...he died...barricades...he is gone..." The rest was lost in sobs.

Valjean looked on sympathetically, and the man's sister began to cry. Marceau just watched, dazed, and eventually fell back onto the pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling.

After what seemed like an eternity, Gillenormand stood shakily, and walked out the door, crying the whole way. Cosette and Toussaint were in the kitchen, looking absolutely frightened and bewildered, but he ignored them and made for the door, his sister at his heels.

As he began to walk down the road, Valjean stood on the doorstep and watched. There was nothing he could do for the poor man. When M. Gillenormand turned into an alley, he could see him no longer, and went back inside to tend to Cosette.

As soon as he had rounded the corner, M. Gillenormand collapsed into a heap on the ground, while his sister summoned a fiacre.

She ran towards the nearest one as fast as her feeble old legs would carry her, and secured it for them. She then turned and ran back to her brother to help him into the awaiting fiacre.

She gasped in horror when she saw M. Gillenormand's icy face staring coldly up at her, motionless. She checked for a pulse. None. He wasn't breathing.

He was dead.


	10. Returning Grief

**A/N : Thank you for the continued support ! Thanks to TwistedGoth for another amazing job with this chapter.**

Javert walked briskly down the deserted roads of Paris. One almost never see's them as the Inspector was seeing them now; devoid of people, merchants, and everything else, it seemed. And yet, there were many so people without homes; you just couldn't see them at the moment.

He turned his head either way every so often, to take in his surroundings and make sure everything was as it was supposed to be. He passed a dark alley and stopped. He heard a small sound coming from inside the alley. He thought he saw something in the shadows. He approached, not at all cautiously, thinking it to be some gamin or another, trying to find a place to curl up and rest.

Upon getting closer, he realized it was an old woman, dressed in fine clothes, bent over an old man. The woman was sobbing, and the man was white and motionless, staring blankly upward, lying on the ground.

He came even closer, but the woman did not seem to notice him. "Is there a problem?" he asked finally, making his presence known.

The old woman looked up at him with puffy eyes and the man just lay there. "H-he is…he is…dead! My brother! He is dead!" the woman cried between sobs. Then she collapsed into a bawling heap at Javerts' feet. The woman's obviously dead brother just lay there once more.

"What happened here?" he asked sternly.

The woman looked up at him, then pulled herself into a standing position, composing herself enough to look decent. "My brother, he found out about Marius, and then…he was …just walking down the street! He turned into this alley, and h-he just…he just…died! He's gone!" she said shakily, never once looking at Javert, only staring wistfully at her brothers' corpse.

Javert caught every word. "What was this mans name?" he asked. He vaguely recognized the two.

"Gillenormand. Marius Pontmercy's grandfather, M. Gillenormand." She replied.

That was how he recognized them! They had asked about the whereabouts of Marius Pontmercy, the young student who was injured at the barricades. He had told them what he had known: that he was in M. Fauchelevant's--well, Jean Valjean's—care and gave them the address.

"What did you say you believe is the cause of death?"

"That man, at that house…he didn't have Marius! Marius actually died at the barricades, they had mistaken some other young man for him." She replied sadly. "I guess it was too much for him…" she trailed off.

So, Marius Pontmercy was dead, and some other brat had lived. The old man died of shock.

"That's all I needed to know." He said. Then he walked away, no longer concerning himself with the matter.

"B-but, Inspector! C-can you help me? Please?"

Javert stopped, but did not turn around. "I don't believe there's anything I can do for you." He said coldly, before turning and walking away.

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Cosette laid her head once more on her tearstained pillow. That was Marius' grandfather who had just come by! Marius!

The ordeal had coldly reminded her of the inevitable fact that Marius was dead. The dim light that Marceau had shed upon her life was extinguished, and she sank back into despair.

How on earth could she have been enjoying herself when Marius was gone? She had been absolutely crazy! She must end this, she must! She had taken out all of Marius' letters and read each over carefully, lovingly.

She was a fool! How could she have thought that she could have gone on without him! That was preposterous! She shook her head, trembling and crying softly, clutching the last of Marius' letters.

She made her decision. She simply couldn't live without Marius. But, if she could not live without him, the question was, how to end it. The answer to this question was simple. She would end her own life.

But how on earth could she possibly kill herself?

The answer to this question was also quite simple. She couldn't. She collapsed on top of her bed, heaving and sobbing. She couldn't bear to be in this house anymore, with everything that reminded her of Marius, with Marceau, who reminded her of Marius, with her own thoughts, thoughts filled with Marius!

She sat up abruptly and started towards the door. She figured she would go outside. Tears brimmed in her eyes again. _In the garden._ In _their_ garden. The garden that belonged solely to Cosette and Marius. She shook her head. She would NOT go there. She would go out into the streets, only for an hour, a night, a few minutes, however long it took for her to calm herself down and rid herself of suicidal thoughts.

She did not know just how late it was until she passed her fathers' room. There was no light in the room, and she heard her father snoring in his bed. She smiled sadly and slipped past the door. She descended the stairs cautiously. She knew Toussaint must be in bed if her father was.

She slid stealthily through the kitchen, to the front door. She reached for the handle, and was about to turn it when she felt a presence in the room.

She turned. No one was there. She must have been hallucinating! She shrugged and continued out the door, still feeling slightly suspicious. She lightly shut the door, and strode towards the road with a light step.

Cosette clasped her hands together and walked with her head down, silently striding towards an unknown destination. She shivered slightly as a chilly wind blew harshly across the sleeping city. She looked up at the sky. Not a star. No moon. It was black as pitch and then some.

Sighing softly, she continued down the road in silent thought for a time. She had been walking for some time when she spotted a figure not to far up the road from herself. The silhouette was getting closer, this figure was coming towards her. An unexplainable fear passed through Cosette. She did not know what she was afraid of. It was simply someone going for a night time walk, no different from herself.

When the figure was close enough that she could see the face, she let out a quiet sigh of relief. It was only the police Inspector. She had seen him many times, especially when she was out and at church. Her father never stayed near him, though she had no clue as to why.

He passed her at a brisk pace and then she heard a yelp from behind her.

"I have been following _you _for sometime now, and it seems you have been following this young lady. I have been wanting to catch you for some time, Montparnasse." She heard the Insptector say to someone.

Someone had been following her?

There was no reply.

"You are coming with me."

The other person spoke now. "I am not Montparnasse."

Interested, Cosette turned around to observe the brawl.

"Of course you are! If you are not Montparnasse then who are you?"

"Marceau Vauthier."

"Of course you are. You are still coming with me."

The inspector began to jerk handcuffs onto the other man.

Against her instincts, Cosette called out "Wait!"

The two turned towards her, both looking surprised. She approached them slowly. "Oh, it is you, Marceau!"

"You know him?" Javert asked.

"Of course, he lives with us right now. He was injured and as since been recovering."

"Mademoiselle, you must be mistaken, this is Montparasse, the devils playmate, a wanted criminal."

"No, this is Marceau Vauthier, my good friend."

There was a pause.

Javert removed the handcuffs and shoved Marceau towards Cosette. He could find him easily, now that he was living with Valjean. He could let him go now and find him tomorrow. No problem.

"Go home." Javert sneered before walking away.

When he was out of earshot, Cosette turned towards Marceau. "But I am rather curious as to why you were following me."

He sighed. "I was rather curious as to why you were going out into the streets at the dead of night without an escort." He said with conviction.

Cosette turned red, unnoticeable in the darkness. "Oh, I, I needed some fresh air." She lied.

"What was wrong with the garden?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Well, I thought I would rather come out here, you know, where I can take a walk and look at the sky." She said far too quickly.

"You never were a good liar." He told her.

Cosette sighed, defeated.

"Are you troubled?" he asked her, already knowing the answer was yes.

"I suppose."

"About what?"

"Marius' grandfather…"

"How many times must you lie to me before you realize that I can see right through it all?"

"Alright. I miss Marius, okay? Is there something wrong with that?" Her voice began to rise and she was overwhelmed with incredible amounts of grief, which turned into boiling anger.

"Leave me alone!" she began screaming, her face white with anger. "Why do you always have to know what's wrong? Why can you not just mind you own business and stay out of my affairs? I never want to speak to you again! You just go back to your school, monsieur Vauthier! Go back and never come to see me again!"

She then ran back towards her house, leaving a stunned Marceau to gaze after her.


	11. The Arrest

**A/N: I know this is a short chapter, but I HAD to update! Thanks to TwistedGoth again!**

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Javert strode hastily down the streets toward the Rue de L'Homme Armé. He knew what he had to do; make a double arrest. He would arrest Montparnasse _and_ Valjean when he arrived. He could wait no longer.

When the building Valjean inhabited came into view, he quickened his step even further before stopping in front of the door. Holding his head high, he knocked.

A breathless woman Javert supposed to be the maid appeared before him.

"What…can….I…help monsieur Inspector…with?" she asked, huffing and puffing. She had apparently rushed to the door.

"I must come in and speak with M. Valjean."

"I'm terribly…sorry, Inspector…but there is not…a M. Valjean here." She told him earnestly, regaining composure.

"I am certain that there is." He replied, gently pushing her aside and entering.

"M. Fauchelevant!" the maid called into the house. "You have a guest!"

Presently, there were footsteps heard coming down the stairs, and soon enough, Valjean appeared before them. He saw Javert, but did not change his grave expression, did not show any surprise at the event whatsoever.

Valjean approached Javert, and they held a gaze, well, more of a glare, for a time. Javert then seized him by the arm, saying "You are under arrest Jean Valjean."

Valjean said nothing, just continued staring into those cold, distant eyes.

"Where is the boy, Montparnasse?" Javert asked.

"We have no one else living here but myself, my daughter, and the maid. The young student went off on his own last night." Valjean replied coolly.

"Oh, I know he is here! There is no lying about it! I saw the boy following your daughter outside last night!" Javert replied impatiently.

"Last night?" Valjean replied, looking confused. "Euphrasie never left her bedroom last night…"

"Of course she did!" Javert spat. "She lies to you! She left the house and wandered the streets alone! That boy you had been housing, who your daughter claims to be 'Marceau something-or-other', was following her when I attempted to arrest him as the criminal Montparnasse! That is who he is! He is not a student, but a thief and a murderer! I bet they are in love! He lied to you as well, foolish old man!"

Valjean looked utterly speechless. "May I have a word with my daughter before I go, Javert?"

"No, you are coming with me now. Resisting arrest will only make matters worse for you and your daughter!"

By now, Toussaint was quite confused, and she ran as fast as her short, fat little legs could carry her up to the stairs to find Cosette.

"Cosette!" She called upon reaching the girl's room.

"Yes, Toussaint?" Cosette answered sleepily.

"Come downstairs with me." Said Toussaint hurriedly, grabbing Cosette out of bed. She had gone to bed fully clothed because she had been so horribly tired the night before. She had intended to change, but sort of fell asleep by accident.

The two jogged hastily down the stairs, just in time to see Javert handcuffing Cosette's father.

"Papa!" Cosette called in surprise.

"Cosette!" Valjean said, equally surprised.

Javert interrupted the little reunion, addressing Cosette, "Where is that boy you fancy? Montparnasse? Marceau? Whatever his name is! Where is he?"

"He left our home last night." Cosette replied honestly, tears in her eyes. "What is this all about? What are you doing with my father? Papa, what on earth is going on?" by now, the tears were rolling down her cheeks and her breath came in short puffs.

"Your 'father' is a convict who broke his parole and has been resisting arrest for a long time now. He is coming with me. The law will protect you, and to protect you, it must take this horrid man away from you." Javert sneered.

"No! He has been nothing but good and kind to me…and…papa it cannot be true! Tell me it isn't true!" Cosette cried, turning to her father.

Her father hung his head in shame. "It is true Cosette. I am a convict. I stole bread. I tried to escape. I have been hiding out. I must go now."

"No, no, no!" Cosette cried once more. "Not like this, papa, not like this! No!" she ran towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a feeble grip, clinging to him and sobbing.

Valjean kissed her on the forehead. "I'm sorry, Cosette. I must go now." And then he whispered in her ear so that only she could hear "And look underneath of my cot. There is a suitcase. Open it. All the money it contains was earned honestly, and the suitcase holds items of great importance to me." He kissed her on the head a second time.

"But where is the boy? Where is Montparnasse?" Javert asked very impatiently.

"I truly don't know Inspector." Cosette answered. This was the least of her worries at the moment.

"Come on, Valjean. Let's go." Javert gave Valjean a sharp kick and dragged him out through the door. Cosette could only follow sobbing and crying variations of "No, no, no, no! Not my papa! No!"

She cried and followed the fiacre they took down the road until she could stand no longer and collapsed into a sobbing heap in the middle of the road.


	12. A Stormy Night

A chilly wind blew fiercely through the sleeping city of Paris. The stormy clouds hung menacingly above the buildings, threatening to unleash a downpour at any given second.

Under a bridge, Montparnasse sat, watching as the wind swept the trees into a violent frenzy, lightening flashing threateningly across the sky, and waited for the coming storm.

He was sure it would begin to rain soon, and yet he did not leave the spot at which he sat. He sighed and stared off into the sky, thinking about nothing in particular. He wondered how long it had been since he had sat under this very bridge with the rest of Patron-Minette one dark night, planning an assault.

He sighed at the memory and thought about where the rest of the wretches he had acquainted himself with had gone. A loud clap of thunder echoed across the city and Montparnasse felt the need to leave the place immediately, though he had no idea why he might need to leave.

He stood quickly and began walking towards the main street, striding along at a steady pace. The street was empty save for a few passersby. Montparnasse felt the first drops cold on his shoulders, and quickened his pace. The drops became bigger and began soaking through his clothing, prompting him to speed up even more so.

He approached the tenement in which he had stayed before he had gone to the barricades. A flash of lightening lit up the street for a brief second, brief enough for Montparnasse to catch a glimpse of a man slinking across the wall of a building, previously concealed by the night.

Montparnasse could have sworn he recognized the man, but paid him no mind and continued walking. He entered the tenement and mounted the stairs until he came to his room. He stared silently at the door to his room, not moving, scarcely breathing. He then remembered that after this whole ordeal, he certainly didn't have his key.

He heard the sound of footsteps behind him and whirled around stealthily. There behind him he saw the porter of the tenement, in his night clothes, holding a candle, and looking extremely tired.

"Eh? Is that you boy? I didn't know if you was comin' back, lad! You sure is lucky you paid for this here room in advance, you are! After this month I was gonna sell your room! Many people have been askin' about it, you know!"

Montparnasse ignored him and took off down the hallway, out into the storm once more.

"Now where is you goin', boy?" the porter called after him, shaking his head.

Montparnasse didn't hear, nor did he care, for he was already outside, turning into a dark alley. He walked down to the end of this alley and stopped before a brick wall. He then bent down and counted 4 bricks to the left and 6 bricks up. He pulled the corresponding brick out, placing it beside him. He then thrust his hand into the hole this created and groped blindly until he found what he was looking for.

Upon withdrawing his hand, one could see that he was firmly grasping a key, the key to his room. Quickly, he replaced the brick and stood, turning on his heel and making a dash for the tenement.

He opened the front door and found his way to his room, heaving slightly and leaving a wet trail across the floor. He turned the key in the knob and entered his room, almost cautiously, stumbling blindly in the near-darkness. He tripped on something on the ground and landed on the floor with a loud thud.

Montparnasse stood, cursing and rubbing his head. He walked slowly towards his dresser, his eyes beginning to be accustomed to the meager light that was visible in his room. He lit a candle on his dresser and looked down at his soggy, muddy clothing. With a slight cough, he tore the clothes off and tossed them in a slapdash fashion into a corner.

He changed into a new, dry set of clothes and flopped onto his bed, sighing, happy to at least be out of the damp streets and frigid air of Paris. He stared at the ceiling, thinking.

The last time he had had a bed to sleep in had been a while before, at the Fauchelevant's home. He shuddered, thinking about Cosette's hateful words, fists clenching at his sides. He had obeyed her wishes, and hadn't returned to their home.

Despite his anger, he found himself wondering where Cosette and her kind old father were, what they were doing, how their lives were without him there to preoccupy them. They were probably well on their way to England by now.

Finding no trace of comfort from the ceiling, he turned on his side, and stared at the wall. A flash of lightening illuminated the room for a split second, revealing slash marks and bloodstains on the walls. This also held no consolation, causing him to roll over as thunder bellowed outside and shook the building viciously.

There in the other corner was his knife gleaming menacingly in the candle light that only lit up that one side of the room. Dismayed, Montparnasse blew out the candle, and, finding absolutely no placation in the room whatsoever, closed his eyes.

Wind whistled eerily outside, rain pounded on the roof, the building shook, the thunder roared, the floors creaked, the room smelled of smoke from the doused candle, and all Montparnasse could see was, in his minds eye, the image of the knife gleaming in the corner, the bloodstained and slashed walls, and Cosette's face, full of melancholy, the first day he had met her.

It was just too much for dear 'Parnasse and he sat up, shaking madly and yelled "Enough!". As if frightened that he might release some wrath upon it, the rain seemed to slow, and no thunder could be heard, nor lightening seen. "What is happening to me?" Montparnasse thrust his arms up in frustration.

Obviously unable to sleep, he grabbed his coat and put his knife into his pocket carefully, the essence of what might have been a slight smile on his face.

A flash of lightening filled the room as he made his way to the door. He didn't quite know what he was going to do, but he had to do something before he went completely insane; though he couldn't say at the moment that he was even still clinging to sanity. In an emotional rage he stomped out of his room, slamming the door behind him as the last echoes of thunder reverberated through Paris.


	13. Suicide

It was around 7:30 p.m. in Paris, and Toussaint, in a sad attempt to resume life as if nothing had happened, was doing laundry in the Valjean household. She didn't dare leave, even though Cosette was nowhere to be found and 'M. Fauchelevant' had been arrested by Inspector Javert.

She was very near losing her mind; entering the kitchen and asking a non-existent M. Fauchelevant and Cosette what they would like for supper. They had been gone for a while now, a day perhaps? Maybe more, she didn't know. All she knew was that everything had gone horribly wrong, and she didn't know what to do.

She descended the staircase with a plate of food she had made for 'Cosette' a few minutes earlier and brought upstairs, only to find that Cosette was in fact not there. She reached the bottom of the steps when the handle to the front door turned. Toussaint just stared, dumbstruck.

When whoever was trying to get in realized the door was locked, they began pounding furiously on the door. Still Toussaint did not move.

The visitor began screaming "TOUSSAINT! TOUSSAINT!" in a voice that was on the verge of insanity. Once more, Toussaint did not move.

"Open the door, for the love of God, Toussaint, open the door!" the person shouted with extreme intensity. Toussaint _finally_ moved—her mouth.

"Wh-who is it out there!" she shrieked.

"It is I, it is I Toussaint! It is Val—M. Fauchelevant!"

"No, it simply cannot be!" Toussaint cried. She dropped the plate of food to the floor and waddled toward the door while repeating it over and over again. After unlocking it she flung it ajar in one sweeping motion.

And sure enough, Valjean was standing in the doorway arms outstretched, tears in his eyes. He flung himself onto Toussaint crying "Yes, yes I am back, it is I!" and the like.

"Oh Toussaint, do find Cosette so I may see her again! I thought I would never see her again! Oh, go fetch her! Toussaint, fetch her!"

Toussaint's smile faded, she took a step back and looked down at the floor. Valjean, sensing that something was wrong, stared at her intently. "What is the problem, Toussaint?" he asked.

Toussaint was silent for a time, still fixing her gaze upon the floor, seeming to be fumbling for the right words. She looked up at him briefly, but quickly looked back down and sighed. "Cosette is not here, monsieur."

Valjean's eyes went wide. "What do you mean not here?" he demanded. "Where ever could she be? She is not with that boy, that Marceau…oh no! His real name was Montparnasse, the Inspector told me himself! She is not with him, is she? Oh dear Lord no! Tell me Toussaint!"

Toussaint did not look up. "I do not know monsieur."

"What!? You do not know!? How is it that you do not know?"

"She left without saying a word. Yesterday. I don't know where she has gone."

"Oh no." whispered Valjean. All sorts of thoughts began racing through his head as he stumbled out the door and into the night. He ran down the streets, looking for Cosette. He walked up a dimly lit road for a while, passing two or three alleys on the way.

While passing one alley in particular, Valjean was seized by the neck and thrown against a wall. He turned his head to look down the alley and saw corpses, bloody and broken, thrown pell-mell throughout. Disgusted, he turned to face his attacker.

When he did, the assailant dropped him abruptly. "M. Fauchelevant?" he said quietly.

"Marceau?" Valjean nearly sneered.

"How…why…what…?" the young man began.

"First off, let us tell each other our _true_ names. I am Jean Valjean; a convict. And yourself?" he said coolly.

"You must be off your rocker old man. You are M. Fauchelevant." Montparnasse replied.

"No," said Valjean calmly "I am in fact sane, and I am Jean Valjean. And I know that _you_, my friend, are Montparnasse."

Montparnasse just stared at him uneasily.

"Now, boy, do you know where Cosette is?"

"No."

"Tell me the truth!"

"I truly do not know, monsieur. Has something happened to her?"

Valjean's eyes widened at the emotion in the boy's voice. "Why do care? Do you care for her? Do you?"

Montparnasse just stood there averting the old man's gaze.

"Find her." Valjean commanded simply. "The police are looking for you. Javert sent them for you before what happened."

Montparnasse's eyes grew wide. "The Inspector, what I heard about the imbecile…he really did commit suicide?"

"Yes."

"You saw?"

"With my own two eyes."

"And I thought it was just a rumor."

"No, and he even took the liberty of making sure they were after you before he died."

"Well, go find Cosette! I will vouch for you! Go! Bring her back to the house when you do." And before turning away he added, "You **will** find her."

This left Montparnasse in the dark, deserted alley with the bodies of the people he had murdered over the past couple of hours. He stood beside the silent graves for a moment before dashing off to find Cosette.

He **would** find her.

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"You selling, my girl?"

The thin, pretty woman sitting on the bare ground looked up at him with horrified eyes and replied in a broken and barely audible voice, "S-selling? What ever, wh-what ever do you mean?"

The man raised an eyebrow slightly and examined the girl more closely. She was around twenty, or perhaps younger? He couldn't say. The girl wore nice enough clothes, but they were rather dirty and worn, as if she had been in the same clothing for a while. He had taken her for a lady of the night, what with her location and attire. This was not to mention her age and countenance, and she had an unmistakable air of sadness about her, a look in her eyes that produced such sorrow and tragedy that one could scarcely stare into them for more than a moment without having to turn away.

With a last glance at the pitiful creature on the ground, the man took off toward a group of prostitutes across the deserted street.

A thin veil of darkness began to befall the city, and a mist rose blatantly as the evening progressed. Along with this mist was an almost identical fog, thick and overwhelming, hanging low over the streets and buildings.

The already frigid night air was beginning to freeze, and everyone not indoors was extremely sorry that they had to stay outside.

In this obscure and seemingly secure night, the girl mentioned above had taken refuge, leaning against the north wall of some building or another, weeping softly all the while. She sat, immersed in a silent reverie, unaware of an inconspicuous figure which was approaching her slowly from a point not far from where she presently sat.

With a sigh and a sniff the girl sank down to the ground, closing her eyes, looking for a moments' solitude. Whatever had been emotionally distressing her before, whatever had caused her to reflect, sob and sigh, came back to the front of her mind once more. This caused her to jolt upright and let out a small cry much like that of a frightened mouse, and the tears from earlier, which had since dried, returned full force, if not more so, gathering in the already watery blue eyes and barreling recklessly down the youthful face.

And as this occurred, the figure approached slowly, but stealthily nonetheless. The girl took no notice, as she was much too preoccupied with her own problems. But when she finally heard the footsteps clearly, raising her head and looking wildly about, this person became her problem as well. The figure stopped before the trembling girl and whispered slowly and softly, "Hello Cosette."


	14. Cosette

**_CHAPTER 14 _**

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All was silent, the girl stared up at a face she could not see in the darkness.

"I am not Cosette." She replied, trembling.

"Ah, but I am sure that you, mademoiselle, are Cosette."

"Who are you?!" she demanded.

"Admit that you are indeed Cosette and I shall tell you."

"I am not."

"Then I will not tell you."

"Please, tell me!"

"I have no business being here or talking to you if you are not Cosette. Her father has an urgent message for her, but I suppose if you are not Cosette than you do not care about this. I shall go find Cosette. _Bonsoir_ mademoiselle."

"But…"

"I said _bonsoir!_" and the man began to walk away, the girl on the ground biting her lip and fighting the guilt that was growing inside her.

"Wait!"

The man stopped. "Yes?"

"I…I am Cosette."

The man smiled triumphantly and replied, "Yes, I know. I was wondering how far away I would get before you confessed." He turned and began walking back towards Cosette.

"Well then…who are you?" she asked softly.

"I? Who am I? Cosette, isn't it obvious?"

Cosette shook her head slowly, though she had a feeling it was.

"I'm Montparnasse."

Cosette did not reply.

"I'm Marceau." He continued. "I'm the boy who lived in your house, the boy that has relentlessly murdered people, who just this evening ran into your father and almost killed him." He chuckled lightly. "Yes, that's funny, that is. He sent me looking for you, my dear. He's quite worried about you, I daresay."

"Wh-what are you going to do with me?" Cosette asked sounding more frightened than she meant to.

Montparnasse smiled a twisted smile and replied "Cosette, dear. I am going to do what your father asked of me. I will bring you back to him."

Montparnasse extended his arm to her. Feeling that she had no other choice, Cosette hesitantly accepted his arm. He pulled her up into a standing position and, still not letting go of her hand, pulled her down the road with him, smiling all the while.

Suddenly Cosette began to cry, remembering that her father had been taken away by the police because he was a convict, so there was no way that he could have asked Montparnasse to do this.

"My father didn't ask you to find me!" she howled at him, trying to wrench her wrist from his grasp.

He held tighter still and began to laugh. "Yes he did, dear. We are going to him." He replied, trying very hard to mask the emotions that were slowly creeping up on him.

Cosette regretted ever believing him, ever trusting him. "You're lying to me! Just like how you lied to me about being Marceau, and how you lied to me about why you were at the barricades, and…and…how you lied to me when you pretended that you cared for me!" she choked out.

Cosette's words threw him over the edge. It was too much for him, and he threw her to the ground, enraged. "What are you talking about!?" he screamed forcefully. "I _never _lied about that! I was never pretending! Never!"

Shocked and nursing a throbbing arm, Cosette looked up at him in tearful confusion.

Montparnasse dropped to the ground beside her, yelling at her while almost beginning to cry himself. "I may not be Marceau Vauthier, and I may not have been at the barricades because I was a student enlightened by the ideals of the republic, but I did care for you! I did! I do!"

Cosette was utterly speechless, and she just sat there watching him sob more like a little boy than a murderous man.

Montparnasse lifted his head up a little and seemed to be talking to someone that wasn't there "I cared for you too…I really did, but you didn't care for me…you cared for him…Marius…I hate you Marius. Two girls. Two who cared for you and not for me! Two! I hate you!"

Cosette watched in horror as he drew a gun out of his pocket. "Are you, a-are you going to kill me now?" she asked, trembling.

Montparnasse made an expression that might have passed for an extremely sad smile. "No, no. I would never do that…no. Though it would be wise to die now, before the world has time to ruin you and your life, rob you of your dreams and hopes, crush your soul and spirit…" he said shakily, and with a harsh tone of accusation, he added "…and break your heart."

Cosette was dumbstruck. She could not move, could not speak, could not think. She wanted to ask 'then what are you doing?' but the answer came soon enough.

Montparnasse lifted the gun towards him head. He rested it on his temple and closed his eyes. "I wasn't pretending…" he whispered. "But I need to know, were you?"


	15. Unanswered Questions

CHAPTER 15

_**a/n; I'm sorry if this all seems a little light-hearted. I can't seem to be completely serious in my writing, which is obviously a serious problem. But bear with me, please, I'm trying my best.**_

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Valjean stood beside the window, waiting impatiently. Where was that boy? Valjean had searched west of the house, and the boy was supposed to search the east half.

Desperate and emotional, he stormed out of the building and into the night. It was very dark, and he could hardly see 3 feet ahead of him, but he was going to go find Cosette.

She was the only reason he had for not going back to the galleys.

She was all he had to live for.

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Trying with much effort to grasp the seriousness of the situation, Cosette stared in complete in utter horror as Montparnasse held the gun to his head.

'Now, let's try to be s-sensible. Drop the gun Montparnasse, you don't want to kill yourself. Stop and think… you could live a great life…" she rambled on, unaware that Montparnasse was not stopping her solely for the purpose of hearing her voice, though he was not interested in what she had to say.

"No, no," Montparnasse finally interjected. "It is time for me to go. There is no reason for me to stay here."

He knew in his mind that he was just bating her. He was just desperate enough to force her to say something good about him, something that showed she cared. He wasn't, however, too emotional to realize that she might lie to achieve having him drop the gun, to wait until he was stable to leave him. Therefore he dragged the conversation on.

"There is absolutely no reason for me to stay if you…if I…just answer my question."

"Answer your question…?"

"Answer the question, Cosette. Were you pretending?"

"I…"

"I told you my answer. It's only fair that you tell me yours."

"You have a lot to live for Montparnasse…" she continued, obviously ignoring his question. Montparnasse took that as a bad sign but let her continue. In truth, she was extremely nervous, and afraid that she was betraying Marius, and her fathers's wishes. "You are smart…you are nice… deep down inside you really are…you are handsome…and young, yes, very young, and have a lot ahead of you!"

Montparnasse was not happy with this little suck up act. She obviously was rejecting him, he thought. How could he have not seen it before? And when she had said "…you are nice…deep down inside you really are…" What had she meant by that? Was he not nice enough for her?

What he failed to realize was that she was referring to the fact that people might think he is not so nice because of the small fact that he was a leader of the violent gang Patron-Minette. He missed that part, so full of grief was he.

Montparnasse pressed the gun to his temple harder still, until it almost broke the skin.

"Just answer the question and you can go home to your father."

Cosette began to grow angry and feel betrayed all over again. "My father is in jail! You know he is!"

"No, Cosette, he is not. Javert, the Inspector, you remember, he committed suicide, and left orders for your father to be freed."

"I don't believe you!"

"And I don't care if you don't believe me!"

"I'm not talking to you until I see my father!"

"Fine! Get up! Get up, girl!"

Cosette obeyed, but retorted with "Is this how you treated Èponine? No wonder she got herself killed!"

"You little bitch!" Montparnasse growled at her. "Move it! Let's go home or I'll shoot!" he said, now holding the gun towards her. "Keep going…"

"Get off of her, you!" Montparnasse and Cosette turned to see Valjean hurrying towards them. "Get off of my daughter, off of my little girl you murderer! You useless…" but Valjean could not say another word.

Montparnasse had quickly and instinctively grabbed Cosette, and now had the gun to her head. "Stop old man." he said, chuckling lightly.

Valjean stopped dead in his tracks. He looked at the pitiful Cosette, who was held hostage in Montparnasse' arms, and began to cry.

"Please…she's the only one in the world I have…I love her…she's my daughter and I can't risk ever losing her again…" Valjean looked even more pitiful and pathetic then Cosette.

Cosette began to cry as well, and dropped limp in Montparnasse' arms.

Montparnasse' eyes darted from Valjean to Cosette and back again. This, he decided, was love. Love, that he had missed out on his entire life, was still eluding him. These two people loved each other, but not romantically. They were just father and daughter in a perfect relationship. They loved each other.

He couldn't stand to keep them from each other. He loosened his grip on Cosette and took her by the hand, leading her towards Valjean. He dropped the gun. When he reached Valjean, he once again looked from him to Cosette.

"This is love, then?" he asked. "Crying over the other when they are in trouble and when they are not. Afraid to lose them, afraid to be without them. That's it then?" He let go of Cosette's hand and began to walk away without answers to any of the questions he had posed that night.

"You two can have the love. I don't care anymore. Cosette never loved me. I suppose Èponine never loved me either. I'll leave now." He said as he walked away.

Valjean was hugging Cosette tightly and was happy that the young heart-broken assassin was leaving. But Cosette wasn't so happy. She did like Montparnasse. A lot. More than he knew. She was just afraid. How would her father respond to that?

"Father, please, I need to go talk to him."

"No, Cosette. No. He just tried to kill you and you want to _talk_ to him?!"

"He tried to kill himself first. It was my fault."

"Your fault?! And what does him killing himself first have to do with it? That just proves he's crazy!"

"But, but, I…I love him."

Valjean's eyes went wide. "You what!?"

"It's okay if you don't like him, father. You never liked Marius. I'm pretty certain you still don't." she replied. "For me, father? Please, let me talk to him."

"Oh, FINE! Go ahead! But if he tries to pull anything on you…"

Cosette retrieved the gun from the ground that Montparnasse had dropped. "Here. I promise he will do no such thing. If he does, here is your defense." And she handed him the gun.


End file.
